


A Million and One Times

by morbid_solemn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All the AU's, Alternate Universe - High School, Doctor!Cas, Jock!Dean, M/M, nerd!cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:34:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5138258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbid_solemn/pseuds/morbid_solemn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester finds himself wandering through millions of different worlds. Worlds in which everything is different. The environment he is trapped in, the people he is surrounded by, the situations he can't escape. One thing, however, always remains the same...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million and One Times

Dean turned over, his skin embraced by the softness of the sheets that lay underneath him. He looked down at the bed, and wondered how a motel could have such delicate set of covers. It was when he looked down at the design of the covers that he realized that this wasn’t a motel at all. He raised his head, and a cozy room came into view. 

The walls were painted orange cream, and the room looked to be kept in order. Nothing like Dean’s room in the bunker. He sat up, elbows resting behind him, hoisting him upright. There was a dresser on the far side of the room, made of a light glazed wood that matched every other piece of furniture in the room. His eyes lingered on the nightstand next to him, and after a moment he realized why. 

A frame of faded, tarnished gold sat at an angle on the stand. The picture it held was of Dean, so this was most certainly his room. But it was the rest of the photo that caught his gaze. Ruffled black hair sat upon the head of the man next to Dean. His ocean blue eyes were practically lit up and Dean stared at the picture. Castiel. No. He convinced himself. Something was wrong; this wasn’t his home. But why did this strange, foreign land open welcoming arms to him?

He turned to the edge of the bed and pushed himself to a standing position. He walked over to the chair in the corner of the room, on which a coat perched. A trench coat. Dean’s eyes widened slightly at it, and his picked it up. He turned the coat over in his hands, eyes surveying every button, every pocket, practically every thread. It couldn’t be.

Dean had looked through hundreds of stores, looking for a coat just like this. Last year, after Castiel had lost his own coat, Dean had made it his mission to find an identical one; it just didn’t seem or look right to see his friend without it. Even after spending day after day, week after week, Sam had caught on, and had urged Dean to “just pick a coat”. So, through mumbled explanations and blush-filled expressions, Dean had given the coat to Castiel. But it wasn’t exactly right. The lapel was all wrong, the edges of the coat didn’t fold out at an angle, and, worst of all, the coat was a darker shade, not able to make Castiel’s eyes shine the deep blue the other coat did with a stark contrast of light beige and blue.

But this coat was exact. It was the perfect shade, the tear and wear of Castiel’s angel lifestyle clearly shown. Hell, even that stupid belt that dangled at Castiel’s sides was there. 

“How the hell?” Dean asked himself. It was louder than expected and through the walls Dean heard a voice call out to him

“Dean? Are you up?” It called. The walls muffled the voice and Dean had to walk out of the room to find the owner. The door of the bedroom led to a small hallway. Dean walked out to see that the room was at the end of the hallway and that there was a bathroom across from his. He leaned to the side to see past the wall that was a few feet in front of him. The same man with the mop of messy black hair from the photo was standing at the stove, his back to Dean. Dean walked further into the apartment.

Directly in front of him was a breakfast bar that was painted a calming white, with chairs to match. Past the bar was a countertop that held a stove and oven, dishwasher, sink and two cabinets. Above that on the wall were more cabinets, four to be exact. To his right, Dean saw the door to the apartment. There was a coat stand and a key holder on the wall next to it. To his left was a white sofa that matched the breakfast bar. The walls were the same shade, except for the wall at Dean’s left next to the sofa, which wasn’t a wall at all, instead it was made entirely out of glass, exposing the city lights and buildings and the great yellow light that sent it golden rays through the apartment.

The place was beautiful to say the least.

The man turned around, at the fact that Dean had not replied to his earlier call. His eyes lit up as they caught sight of Dean, and a small smile flickered on Castiel’s face. “Good morning, Dean.” The man returned to the stove, spatula wedging itself between the stove and the cooking pancake. His hand flipped, the pancake following with the motion. “I made pancakes.” Dean licked his lips subconsciously. Then he realized he hadn’t said a word to Cas yet.

“Uh, yeah, hey Cas.” Dean walked forward, the breakfast bar separating the two. “How’s it going?” Dean asked cautiously. He remembered that time, about eight years ago, when the Djinn had given him his wish, and he had ended up in some backwards universe with his mother still alive, Sam and Jess getting married, and a really hot girlfriend. But when he asked them any questions about the place, all he got were strange looks and accusations of being drunk. 

“I’m good.” Cas’s smile was still on his face. He placed the cooked pancake on a plate that Dean hadn’t noticed, and placed the stack on the bar. He reached up to the cabinet to pull out two plates, one of which he handed to Dean. As Cas pulled three of the pancakes onto Dean’s plate, Dean looked across the apartment. His eyes lingered over every detail of the place. Cas caught on, and tilted his head in that way that Dean was so fond of. 

“Is something wrong?”

“What?” Dean looked back at Cas, blue eyes a reflecting pool of confusion and slight concern. “No, nothing’s… Everything’s good, Cas.” He paused to note the smile that returned to his friend’s face. “Does this place seem different to you?” Dean chose his words cautiously, careful not to hint at the fact that he had no idea why and how he was here. Castiel’s smile faltered, then his eyes brightened with remembrance. 

“If you’re referring to our bedroom, I painted it orange recently.” 

 

“Orange?” Dean asked.

“You said the white and gray was boring, so while you were visiting Sam, I painted it orange.” Cas’s head tilted again, and Dean couldn’t help thinking of a bird. “Don’t you remember?”

“Oh yeah. Nah, I’m just having one of those days, y’know?” Dean said. The landline phone that was left on the glass and metal coffee table in front of the sofa began to ring. Castiel looked at Dean apologetically, sorry that they had to end the conversation. Dean on the other hand was delighted for some time to think things through. While Castiel answered the call, Dean replayed the conversation in his head. It was now that he realized that Castiel had said “our bedroom” which implied that they lived together, and Dean was not just visiting. Dean tried to conceal the blood that was rushing through his skin, but it reddened his features. Castiel was talking on the phone, but by now he had sighed exasperatedly and hung up, his fingers pushing the “Talk” button hard enough to permanently damage the phone. The glare on his face was frightening enough to scare away anyone. It was a good thing Dean wasn’t anyone.

He got up, the white chair swiveling furiously. He placed a hand on Castiel’s forearm without a moment’s hesitation. “Hey, Cas.” It was simple statement that could mean almost anything, but Cas could easily decipher the clouded message. 

“I’m fine.” Castiel said and his face matched his voice, never betraying his emotions. Dean stared at Cas. “This was supposed to be our weekend, Dean. I’m always at the hospital, and you never say anything, but I know what you’re thinking because I’m thinking it, too. I was going to have this entire weekend off, and that’s the first time in two years it’s happened. We planned this out so long ago and now it’s ruined because of this stupid job.”

Without thinking, Dean replied. “I know. But, Cas, man. You gotta chill.” By now Castiel had visibly calmed, fists unclenched, jaw muscles loosened. 

“Thank you, Dean.” Dean smiled, and then Castiel’s hand was pressed lightly against Dean’s face, and his thumb was sliding across the skin underneath it. But he didn’t notice this at all, because now Castiel’s lips were on his. Cracked, chapped lips were moving against Dean’s stone, unmoving ones, and Castiel tried to pull back, with the thought that maybe Dean was too tired for a kiss in the morning. But that thought vanished as Dean used one hand to pull Cas back in, his hand now playing with the dark locks that curled and waved and tangled. 

Dean wondered how it was possible that this kiss had somehow felt so different compared to any other he had had. Lips were lips, of course, and Dean began think, faintly, that maybe Castiel’s grace had something to do with it, but in a universe where they weren’t fighting nightmare things and Cas was a freaking doctor, there was no magic or grace. Castiel had left shortly after that, and Dean was left to his wondering.

 

With a groan and a shift, Dean Winchester picked his head up off of the desk. Wait, a desk? He looked down, then up, to see a whiteboard with stuff that Dean remembered seeing in Sammy’s notebooks when they were younger. 

“And Gay-Lussac’s gas law explains that the pressure of a fixed amount of gas varies directly with the kelvin temperature when the volume remains constant.” A few kids chuckled at the name, the teacher oblivious to it as he wrote “P/T” on the board. “Now,” the teacher continued, “when you combine these laws…” Dean didn’t pay any attention because he was too busy freaking out over what had just happened. Cas’s lips were on his, and he had left, but just as Cas left the room, Dean felt lightness flush through his body, and now he was here. 

So far, he could tell this was a school. Other than that, he was clueless. He didn’t recognize anyone- to his right was Benny. Dean laughed audibly; he ended up in another strange universe, but somehow, Benny was here. The teacher chose that moment to pause. He turned his head, glasses in danger of falling off of his impossibly long, pointed nose. “Is something funny, Mr. Winchester?” He asked. Dean was sitting in the back of the classroom, so everyone turned around to watch his next move. Dean leaned forward, smirking with an air of confidence and cockiness.

“Yeah, your, uh, sweater and pants combo for one. What, the 20’s dress you or something?” The teacher looked the shade of red that you would find in a tomato that would hang in your own garden. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Dean’s words somehow seemed convincing to the teacher, who thought that Dean was actually apologizing. “It was your mom, wasn’t it?” It could have been a trick of the light, but Dean could have sworn he saw smoke trailing out of the teacher’s ears. The bell rang and Dean almost thought it was the teacher exploding. 

Dean picked up his books, placed two fingers at his temple and pushed them off, in an arrogant salute. He walked out into the hallway, and Benny was laughing at his recent incident, when Dean’s voice called out before he could properly digest the sight before himself. “Cas!” The smaller blacker haired boy looked up from his feet, and a smile crossed his features. He crossed through the stream of people and stood by Dean. 

“Hello, Dean.” Now that they were standing so close, Dean could see that Castiel was only an inch shorter than him. Like always. Castiel was wearing tan khakis and an ironed dress shirt. It was white and Dean could almost see his own Castiel standing in the frame of this 18 year old boy. It was then that Dean looked down at his own clothing, surprised to see not his own leather jacket that previously belonged to his father, but a Letterman jacket. He admired the contrast between the gold and red felt and the pale leather.

“Awesome.” He said under his breath. Castiel raised an eyebrow at that. He looked down at his watch, and realized that there was only two minutes left to get to class. 

“Dean, I really have to go.” Castiel placed a chaste kiss upon Dean’s lips and left, vanishing up the stairwell. Dean could still taste Castiel on his lips. The kiss had been so quick he didn’t even have time to question it. The last one, in that apartment, had seemed to leave Dean with a sense of completion, as if he had been dying for a drink of water, and now he had been given a single drop. This feeling returned to Dean in the hallway, along with the wondering if sparks really did fly when you kissed the person whom you truly loved.


End file.
